


Speechless

by radicallyred



Category: Marvel
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Character, Surgery, Tonsilitis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 08:51:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16215647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radicallyred/pseuds/radicallyred
Summary: Tony is sick and Steve is just trying to help. What no one expects is surgery.





	Speechless

It’s the third night in a row. And it’s getting old.

Steve wakes up at 3:14 a.m to the sound of Tony hacking into his pillow. His shoulders trembling, face pink and flushed when he rolls over onto his back, still in a dead sleep. Steve doesn’t know how he manages that.

4:32 a.m. Steve is spooned up behind him when he starts to twist and groan in his arms. Steve loosens his grip and scoots back. It’s been a couple years, so he knows better than to try to keep Tony still when he gets like this. He still ends up with a sharp kick just above his knee. Steve yelps, and Tony stays asleep, rolling onto his stomach and starfishing on the bed. He clears his throat just when Steve is drifting off, Tony hugs the pillow in his sleep, pressing it into his face and trying to muffle the sound as his coughing starts back up.  
Steve hoists himself up and out of bed, taking the elevator down to his floor. He’d been able to put up with the coughing the past two nights. But they have work tomorrow and at this rate, factoring in his morning jog, he’s going to be running on just a little over five hours of sleep.

He wakes up at 5:30 despite exhaustion , knowing that if he skips his run he’ll feel even more out of it. He returns around 7:15, showers in his own bathroom before heading back up to their shared floor.  
He inhales when he steps inside the entryway, expecting to see Tony sitting at the table, the air smelling of coffee and eggs. But all the lights are still off and the kitchen is empty and untouched.

Odd. Steve walks into the bedroom, flipping on the light switch.

“No lights!” Tony’s voice, hoarse and barely above a whisper, calls out from beneath a pile of blankets.

Steve immediately turns them off and carefully approaches the bed, sitting down on the edge and pulling the blankets off Tony, slowly, noting the way he shivers and buries his face deeper into his pillow. Steve frowns and puts his palm flat on the small of his back, just where his shirt is starting to ride up. He’s hot to the touch.

“Oh, Tony.” Steve sighs. “Sweetheart, you’re burning up.”

Tony groans and rolls onto his side, chapped lips parting but no words coming out.

“Did you sleep in your room?” he manages after clearing his throat a couple times, eyes watering when he swallows.

“You were coughing all night. Don’t try to talk right now,” Steve says, gently brushing Tony’s hair out of his eyes and keeping his hand pressed to his forehead. Tony mumbles a garbled protest when he realizes what Steve is doing.

When he finally gets Tony to agree to the thermometer, it reads 102.8 degrees.

“Christ, baby. This is, what, the fourth time this year?” Steve asks as he feels along Tony’s neck, just below his jaw line. His glands are swollen. Recurrent tonsillitis, if he had to guess. He went through his as a kid.

Tony grabs hold of both his wrists and pulls his hands away from his face. “I’ll sleep on the couch if I’m bothering you.” He swallows again, face pinched in obvious pain. His words are so jumbled that it takes Steve a moment to translate.

“I said no talking,” he says kindly, smiling off of Tony’s eye roll and tugging the blankets back up to his shoulders. “I’m calling Pepper. She’s taking you to the doctor today.”

In any other circumstance , the way Tony’s eyes widen like saucer plates would be comical. Instead, it makes Steve’s heart sink, seeing his flushed skin redden with anxiety and eyes huge in panic. 

“No,” Tony coughs, scrambling to sit upright. “No doctors.”

“Shh. They’re going to prescribe you antibiotics, that’s all,” Steve says, though he can’t be certain. “I’m booked all morning or else I would go with you.” Tony’s eyes start to well up with tears and Steve can’t tell if it’s a play for sympathy or genuine fear. It could go either way with Tony.

“I’m not going. I can’t miss work. I--”

“Tony,” Steve says, raising one eyebrow, stopping Tony mid-sentence. He knows how to play this game, too. He cards his hand through Tony’s unruly dark hair. “I hate worrying about you. I can’t focus when you’re like this. Please?”

Oh yes, he can definitely play this game.

Tony screws his eyes shut and leans into his touch, digging into his bottom lip with his teeth. It’d be cute, almost, if he didn’t look so flushed and miserable. “And you promise they’re just going to write me a prescription?”

Steve hesitates. “Yes.”

Tony nods, blinking back tears. And then, voice strained and cracking, “Okay. Fine. I’ll go.”

“Good boy,” Steve says, brushing his lips against Tony’s burning forehead. “I’ll call Pepper and tell her everything. Go back to sleep. And no more talking. I mean it.”

***

He’s walking out of his 9:30 with Coulson when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

_You promised they’d give me antibiotics and send me home_

Steve sends back a reply just as he unlocks his car and climbs in.

_What’s going on? Are you okay?_

Tony shoots back an answer before he can even close the door.

_Not what you promised_

Steve closes his eyes as he fastens his seatbelt, collects himself before replying.

_Are you okay?_

Tony’s read receipt shows up immediately but he doesn’t reply. Frustrated, Steve tosses his phone onto the passenger seat and turns on the radio, keeping the volume low as he makes his way to his 10 a.m. meeting. It doesn’t take long before Pepper’s name shows up on the dashboard’s caller ID. He taps the accept call button on his steering wheel.

“Hey,” Pepper says, her voice filling the car. “Tony was making a show of not texting you back. I figured you’d want an update.”

“Yes,” Steve says dryly. “Thank you. Would you put him on?”

“No, actually. They’re taking him into surgery. Tonsillectomy.”

“Surgery?” Steve’s stomach tightens. “Same day?”

“They had an opening,” Pepper says. “Probably better this way, don’t you think? We would’ve had to drag him back kicking and screaming otherwise.”

Steve sighs, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel. “You’re right. Damn it, this is what I was worried about. He’s angry, then?”

“Oh, it’s been a fun morning,” Pepper says, voice dripping with sarcasm in a way Steve isn’t used to. It almost makes him smile. “He’s definitely not pleased with you. But you know Tony; he’ll pout for a day or two and then realize he’s acting like a child. I talked to his surgeon. It’s all very routine. He’ll be in and out in less than an hour. He’ll be resting at home by the time you’re due back.”

“He’ll be okay?” Steve asks, slowing to a stop at a yellow light, ignoring the angry driver honking behind him. “I can cancel the rest of my day. It’s just typical S.H.I.E.L.D stuff.”

“No, no. He’ll be fine.” Pepper reassures him.

Steve nods to himself, feeling some of the tension lift from his shoulders. “Thank you. Again. I know he’s a handful when he gets like this.”

Pepper laughs softly. “You forget I was his assistant for close to ten years,” Pepper reminds him “I can handle it. I’ll let you know when he’s back.”

***

He’s packing up to leave by 4:30 p.m., trying to put the day’s frustrations behind him, eager to get home to Tony, when his phone vibrates across his desk. A text from Pepper.

_He’s home. Everything went great. He’s asleep now, I’m in the office downstairs. Let me know when you get back._

Steve types out a thank you, drops his phone back on his desk, sighs and looks up to the ceiling. His guilt is eating him alive.

He stops at a Trader Joe’s on his way home and picks up coffee ice cream and popsicles in hopes that this will work as a peace offering. In the back of his mind, he knew this would happen. He knew that with recurring tonsillitis, the doctors would want to move forward with a surgery. That’s what happened with him. But there’s no way in hell he would’ve managed to get Tony to agree to a doctor’s visit. Not if he’d known surgery was on the table.

When he reaches the tower, he half expects to be locked out by Friday. The thought occurs to him that Tony probably can’t speak, thus not being able to command her. He flicks the hall lights on as he moves into the living room. The lights are all off and there’s Tony; sprawled across the sofa. Tony takes one look at him and rolls over so he’s facing the back of the couch.  
Steve sighs quietly and goes about putting the groceries away in the freezer, loads the dishwasher and fills a pitcher with water. When he glances back to the living room, he finds Tony staring. He rolls back over as soon as he’s caught.

“I know, you’re mad,” Steve says to his back, shrugging a shoulder. He turns to the elevator, prepared to spend the night on his own floor. “For what it’s worth, I figured if you needed surgery they’d schedule it. I thought we’d have some time to talk about it.”

A pause. No response.

“Anyway. I left you ice cream and popsicles in the freezer. I’m going to head down to my floor. Call me if you need anything.”

He’s halfway to the door when he hears a frantic rustle and then - something soft bouncing off the back of his head. He turns around and finds Tony sitting upright, looking resigned and a bit guilty. Steve looks down and finds a paper ball at his feet.

Steve smirks. “Yes?”

Tony gestures at his throat and throws his hands up, then scoots over so he’s closer to the arm. He pats the open spot on the couch.

“I could get used to this,” Steve jokes when he crosses the room, toeing his shoes off, laughing softly at the way Tony’s eyes immediately jump to his hands as he unfastens his belt. Tony’s eyes flicker up to his, face growing red. He grabs his notebook off the bedside table, scribbles something down and holds it up.

_Don’t push your luck, old man. I’m still mad at you_

Steve laughs heartily as he gets into a comfortable position.

“As much as I would love to watch you try and keep your mouth shut,” Steve smiles as he rubs his hands through Tony’s hair, “not tonight. You need to rest.”

Tony sets his jaw and underlines _I’m still mad at you_ twice before flipping the notebook back around.

Steve arches an eyebrow. “Would coffee ice cream help?”

Tony considers this and then, with a mischievous grin, writes,

_Only if you eat some with me. And skip your run tomorrow._

Steve has to laugh at that and, well, if ice cream and sleeping in is all it takes to earn Tony’s forgiveness, so be it. With a kiss to Tony’s forehead, he stands.

“I’ll grab us some bowls.”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are always appreciated!!


End file.
